Everything's Alright Now
by Tobiko
Summary: After the book Speak. Melinda is fine now. Everything's ok. Andy's gone. There's nothing to worry about. Then why isn't she back to her normal self? Before everything happened?
1. Welcome Back to Merryweather High

Note: Speak and these characters do not belong to me. Some of them are my creation. But most belong to Laurie Halse Anderson. 

**OK?**

It's all alright now. Or it's supposed to be. He's gone. Gone from this school, from my life. Then why can't I seem to go back to normal?

I'm still a celebrity. Everyone in my class thinks it's amazing or something. I don't know. I don't think getting raped is anything to be proud of. I guess I did get him in the end, but whatever. It's not like he's in jail.

I'm still not me. Something still haunts me, makes it hard for me to focus. My mind is always wandering. It's odd, my teachers all coo and say it's ok. Like that will make me feel better.

Ivy is still a good friend. Nicole and I are basically the same as we were last year, ok with each other but not friends. Rachel/Rachelle has talked to me a lot, but she always seems so nervous around me. Well her boyfriend raped me. I mean, how good could that make a person feel? Not that I blame her for being his girlfriend. She didn't know. I didn't say anything.

Mr. Freeman's room is still my refuge. Now that I've moved out of my closet I go to his room every lunch and draw/paint/etc. I'm still not a social being. I'd rather be an anti-cheerleader than a cheerleader any day.

I have to see a psychiatrist. She's ok. She doesn't talk much; I don't talk that much. It's basically silence for an hour. I like it. She thinks my mind-wandering thing is a defense mechanism. Well it certainly was last year, but why do I still use it now? It's just reflex now. It's not so bad. My own little world to get away from things. But it doesn't help with grades or anything.

He won't talk to me. He barely looks at me. When our eyes meet he gets a funny look on his face and quickly looks away. Right. Why would he want to be the friend of a loser rape victim? For some reason… I miss him.

**New Year, New (Out) Look**

I make one last angry swipe at the now colorful canvas. Mr. Freeman looks up briefly from his new masterpiece-in-progress and smiles vaguely. He thinks emotion is good for art. Let my anger out. I'm the perfect artist. All this pent up emotion.

It's been 3 weeks since school started again. All the students still have deer-in-headlights looks. They're still in shock that summer is over. The look is starting to fade, but I figure it'll be another week before it's gone completely.

Ivy has started to spend a lot of time with me in the art room at lunch. It's nice when she's there, but sometimes I'd prefer to be alone so I can just throw myself into the paintbrushes and paper and work without having to respond to things that she says or asks. I think Mr. Freeman likes it a little better without Ivy too. With Ivy every other minute is chatter. With just me it's silent and easier to focus for both of us.

All my other classes have shifted in my schedule, but art still follows lunch so I just stay in the room for a full hour and a half. It's heaven.

Ivy has not graced us with her presence today so I'm pretty rapped up in what I'm doing. Suddenly Mr. Freeman clears his throat and I realize he's right behind me. I jump slightly. Wasn't he just at his easel a second ago?

I look down at what I've painted with him. It comes into focus. Lately I don't know what's going to come out of my art. I don't have "Tree, tree, tree" on my mind anymore, even though that's still my subject of choice. Today it appears I haven't done a tree. Or it wasn't the subject. There were tree branches around the sides of the canvas, because the picture seemed to be looking up into a full moon. Some sort of night bird could be seen a little, one wing sticking slightly into the moons bright light.

Mr. Freeman looks at it quietly, assessing my work. Finally he says, "You can do better." Then he walks back to his own project. A small lump forms in my throat. I knew he was right, so why was I upset? Maybe it was because he'd said that about everything I'd done recently.

The bell rings and the next period starts. I stay where I am. I decide to finish this picture, just because I don't like leaving things unfinished. Ivy comes in after a few minutes, smiles at me and sets up her stuff next to me. She starts talking. I'm suddenly reminded of Heather, even though Ivy doesn't talk nearly as much. I stay silent and listen for a bit. Then she stops and gets to work and I go off into my own little world again.

**Mixing Chemicals**

I am now in Chem. It's a miracle I think, since I flunked basically all my classes last year. They let me take summer school. I retook all my classes over the summer so I could actually pass. I was a special exception because of the "circumstances".

He isn't my lab partner again. He sits in the front of the class and ignores me. I find myself staring at his back a lot. Way more than I should. I mean, it's not like we were REALLY friends. All year he was just David Petrakis My Lab Partner. Maybe I only let myself get this way because he helped me get good grades when we had to work together. And he finished the frog for us after I fainted that one time.

My new lab partner is a girl named Molly. She's got curly blonde hair and glasses. She's short and thin, like one of those button cute movie stars (what does cute as a button actually mean?). I could picture her doing that. She'd wear contacts in the movies of course. She could probably be a model if she were taller. But she doesn't look like she'd be interested in that sort of stuff. She likes Chem. But she actually doesn't pay attention much. More often than not she's got a book hidden under the table and while we're supposed to be taking notes and I'm drawing, she's reading and making scribbles on her paper so it looks like she's working. For a brainiac not to pay attention in class… It's odd. But it's sort of cool.

Today Molly is reading a book called The Fifth Sacred Thing. It's big. It must be uncomfortable to hunch like she does when she's trying to hide that she's reading. She's actually in a lot of my classes and does this in every one of them.

I decide to ask her about this book. Since we're both not paying attention and our teacher, Mr. Garcia, is droning about something or other. She looks up in surprise when I speak. Then she smiles.

"Oh it's great! It's about the future, and how the United States is split up into good and evil. But at this point it's not really into the war and stuff, mostly people are just having a lot of sex in the good part of the United States." She has this huge grin on her face like it's the most interesting thing imaginable. I wonder why she says "United States" instead of "America" like every other person in the states.

"That sounds good." That actually does sound interesting. But I'm not much of a reader so I'm not terribly fascinated.

Molly can tell I'm not that interested but it doesn't make her any less enthusiastic about my asking in the first place. She starts telling me a little more about it and I listen. My mind doesn't even start to wander. Watching Molly talk is like being hypnotized. Somehow you find yourself wanting to agree with her. She's could probably convince the Devil to become a saint. Molly would be a good salesperson.

Suddenly a sharp voice says, "Ms. Sordino, Ms. Hunter. I'd appreciate it if you'd pay attention to me while we're in class. Thank you ever so much." Molly turns bright red and shrinks a little into her seat.

Mr. Garcia returns to whatever he was talking about. David turns a little in his seat to look back at us. Molly smiles at him sheepishly and mouths something. David grins and I feel a chill go down my spine. He glances me, then gets that funny look of his and turns around quickly.

A minute passes. Then, as if she never stopped talking, Molly starts up again, in a quieter voice. She's just so passionate about this book and all embarrassment about Mr. Garcia catching us is gone. She keeps talking until the end of class.

The bell rings and we both get up to leave. I have English next. She has P.E. I groan in sympathy. She smiles. "Yeah, I think they should ban P.E. I don't think my parents signed anything saying it was OK to torture me."

I laugh with her. It's weird, I haven't really laughed with anyone over anything in a long time. She starts heading toward David and I feel that chill again. As they walk out of the classroom she turns and waves at me. I wave a little back. David seems to ignore the exchange.

I think I might like Chem now. Just a little bit more.

**Hairspray or Shoe Polish?**

My new English teacher, Mr. Gold is very different from Hairwoman. He likes giving us pop quizzes and does all the time. The questions are mostly asking us if we know what a verb is. Or an adjective.

He assigned us a book to read a week after we started school. He hasn't even checked to see if we've started. I think he's the kind of teacher that will forget to tell us about the test and then expect us to be ready.

And also, where at the beginning of the year Hairwoman had a huge hairstyle that probably could have filled a small closet, Mr. Gold is completely bald. He could probably blind someone if he turns his head just the right way. I've taken to calling him Bowlingball. Hey, I can come out of the depression and isolation but the nicknames are still hella fun.

Bowlingball has decided to give us another quiz. Surprise there. He passes it out and I spend most of the period staring at the first question. "How do you diagram this sentence? **Billy went to the store to get some milk for his cat.**" I think I read somewhere that milk isn't good for cats. Too fattening or something. I wonder why Billy went to the store just for his cat. Couldn't he have added other things to his shopping list? Instead of just a carton of milk for a spoiled feline?

The period is over and I haven't answered any of the quiz's questions. I turn it in blank. Bowlingball frowns slightly and starts to say something but I dart out of there before he can ask me why I didn't diagram any of his stupid sentences. Who cares how to diagram a sentence about Billy and his damn cat? Screw them both.

**The Fall of Heather**

I see Heather in the hallway. I watch her thoughtfully. She looks like she's collapsed in on herself. Her hair is unwashed and tangled. Her outfit reminds me of something you would have found in my closet last year. All this because she was dumped by the Marthas?

I haven't seen her that much, but every time I have she's been alone. Staring at the floor or at a notebook. Not making eye contact with anyone. Once she accidentally bumped into me. She looked up and whispered sorry in this timid voice. Then she saw it was me and she froze. She seemed horrified. I started to say it was OK, but she fled.

She looks so lonely. I should reach out to her. Then I remember how it felt to be dumped by her. Even though I didn't like her. It made me feel horrible. I watch Heather fish through her locker a little more. Then I turn and walked the opposite way.


	2. PostTraumatic Stress Disorder

Note: I do not own Speak or any of it's characters. I also do not own Of Mice and Men or the book I mentioned last chapter The Fifth Sacred Thing. 

**Silent Talking**

My parents have acted oddly since the end of school last year. They try and be understanding and always want to do activities with me. "Let's go shopping Melinda!" "You want to watch a movie darling?" But they seem so scared of something. Scared of getting close to me? Is that it? For some reason I don't think so. I think they feel guilty. Guilty for not paying attention. But it's not their fault. I know it isn't. Yet sometimes I find myself blaming them too. Didn't they care enough?

Usually I don't want to hang out with them. So I tell them I have other things to do. Mom will usually get a hurt look on her face and Dad will say haltingly that we'll reschedule. I usually nod and walk away. We all know that nothing will happen.

Sometimes I find them in the kitchen, just staring at each other. I'll watch as my mother's eyebrow rises slightly. And then my father will jerk his head a little. My mom will reply with a twitch of her finger. It's amazing. I can tell they're talking, or at least communicating something. They understand each other too. I'll watch for a bit and then back up a few feet, and then pretend to round the corner and interrupt them. I wonder what they're talking about. Me probably. They didn't do this before.

When I get home neither of the parental units are there yet. A note on the fridge says they're both going to be a little late. There's twenty dollars for a pizza. The note is pretty long and apologetic, much longer than the old notes that used to read things like "Here's 20 bucks. Don't get the breadsticks, they go to waste."

When the pizza comes I flip the cushions of the couch and turn on the TV. My backpack lays unopened by the door, forgotten until tomorrow morning. I probably wouldn't touch my homework. It doesn't matter anyway. I'd do some at school maybe. During class if the teacher doesn't collect at the very beginning.

I hear one of the cars pull up. In a flash I flip the cushions to show the flawless white textile and I'm out of there.

My mom's the first one home it appears. She calls my name and I answer that I'm doing homework. She must know it's a lie though, since my backpack is right where she just walked by. But she doesn't challenge me. I stare up at the ceiling for a while. My room is no longer pink but a nice shade of green. I painted it myself. My paintings and drawings of trees are plastered on the walls. It feels nice, like I'm in a peaceful forest. My bunnies still roam my room. I think they like the new scenery. Maybe it feels more like home to them too.

I go downstairs after an hour or so. My dad's home already. I don't hear any sound so I look through the rooms. I finally find them in the dining room. They're just staring at each other. Silent talking again.

I walk in and clear my throat. They both look up. They smile. Their smiles are so fake it makes me think of those sticky sweet energy drinks that taste like sugar and Jolly Rancher watermelon flavor. I fake smile right back at them.

I grab my backpack and bring it up to my room. I stare at my Chem homework for a few minutes. Then I realize I don't understand one word of this. I move on to Math homework. I work my way through looking at all my homework and realize I can't do any of it. I decide to read the book Bowlingball assigned us. It's not like I have anything better to do.

The book is called Of Mice And Men . I think I've read this. Or seen the movie. It just sounds familiar. I get as far as the description of Lenny killing mice. Then I give up on that too and go to sleep.

**Homework Help**

At school I'm well rested but absolutely none of my homework is done. My classes are a blur of trying to do some of my homework but in the end only finishing half. Until Chem class.

I'm sitting next to Molly and trying to answer 15 questions on stuff that I don't understand when Molly nudges me. I blush when I see that she's looking at my unfinished work. She smiles and murmurs, "That's wrong. Here let me help you." She then goes on to explain all the answers to me. In terms that I actually understand. I finish before the teacher even gets there.

"Ugh, the textbook is so frustrating. If they only explained it in simpler terms. It's much easier to understand that way," Molly mutters. I nod. It is easier to understand.

"Hey, you want to sit with us at lunch today? I never see you around." Molly grins and I wonder why I never saw her last year. Just my luck that the nicest girl in school isn't in any of my classes the worst year of my life.

"Oh, umm… I usually have lunch in the art room," I reply. I neglect to mention that the cafeteria is the bane of my existence and I avoid it like the plague.

"Oh," Molly frowns, and she seems a little hurt. "Oh well that's fine. Maybe another time?" I nod and she turns back to her work. I look down at my work again. I can't help it if I've had bad experiences in that room. I'd rather eat of the toilet seat then eat in the cafeteria. I'm sure it's more hygienic.

The rest of the period I stare at the clock and wonder if I blew a chance at making a new friend.

**Post-traumatic Stress Disorder**

We have five Social Studies teachers in our school. One teaches seniors, one teaches juniors, one teaches sophomores, one teaches freshmen, and one teaches both freshmen and sophomores.

Guess who teaches freshmen and sophomores.

And guess whose class I'm in.

Just because he knows that I've been through emotional "trauma" now doesn't mean he's any less of a jerk.

Another year of American history, and another year of Mr. Neck.

He gives me a strained smile when I walk in the door five minutes late. "Glad you could join us Sor-di-no. Sit down." Mr. Neck has decided that he'll try and fake being nice to me for a while. It's not going to last, you can tell I'm wearing on his nerves. I don't care. I don't want people being nice to me only because they feel sorry for me. Or because the principal tells them to be.

David is still in my Social Studies class, God knows why. Mr. Neck probably begged the principal to switch him to the other Social Studies. Since there is no longer a camera watching his every move, Mr. Neck has started to glare at David every chance he gets. David mostly ignores it. But when David chooses to notice, they have a staring contest. Who's going to drop their gaze first? Who can give the worst evil glare? Which one of them is going to drop dead?

Today David drops his gaze first. Mr. Neck doesn't even try to hide his grin of triumph. Most of the class looks disappointed. Everyone's rooting for David.

Mr. Neck decides to pick on some hapless kid that didn't do his homework last night. I draw doodles in my notebook until class is over.


	3. Father Daughter Dance

**Father Daughter Dance**

This year the school has decided to have a father/daughter dance. To promote school unity I think… That's usually what these things are about anyway. My dad has insisted on taking me. Molly seemed quite excited about it. It's all she talked about in Chem today. How her father was going to be a complete dork. She seemed to like the idea. I don't like dances. I don't like social gatherings of any kind. My mother thinks I should wear a skirt. How long has it been since I've worn one?

I get ready for the dance like I get ready for a school day. I throw my clothes on and take my time getting downstairs. I usually look up at the ceiling as I descend, trying to see if I'll trip.

My dad has a suit on. I stare at him like he's an alien. He looks so uncomfortable, I think he _feels_ like an alien. My mom thinks it's cute. She practically drags me into the bathroom, trying to do something with my hair and put makeup on me. I flinch but she seems to think it's a great idea and ignores me.

The drive to school is long and awkward. My dad stares straight ahead. I stare out the window, and now I know for certain that he doesn't want to do this anymore than I do. I grin a little at the thought. Good, no dancing.

We park and walk into the gym, neither of us talking. I think my dad has gotten used to the fact that I've barely strung a paragraph together aloud in over a year. I'm glad. I sort of like being quiet. It lets me observe things.

The gym is hot and dark. Almost like a regular dance. I look at all the short skirts and tight dresses in the room, wondering whom the girls are trying to impress. Their friends' dads?

We stand next to a wall. I hear my dad laugh at some of the songs they play, so corny it's almost painful. We exchange knowing glances a few times. I sort of feel closer to my dad all of a sudden. I freeze when they play Butterfly Kisses by that religious guy. My dad used to play it when I was younger and I'd sing along and dance. It's sort of a depressing song actually. I hadn't realized at the age of seven and had always wondered why my dad would tear up. I feel my dad stiffen slightly too. Suddenly I feel sorry for dads. They have to watch their little girls grow up and away.

About halfway through the dance I see Molly and her dad dancing. They're laughing about something or other. Almost as soon as I see her she sees me. She smiles huge and waves me over. I mutter something to my dad and I'm not sure he can hear it over the music.

"Hey, having fun?" Molly half yells over the unnecessarily loud music. I just smile, hoping that's enough of a response. Molly seems to except it and introduces me to her dad. He seems like a sort of goofy guy. Cool in a nerdy way. He cracks a joke about the music and I find myself laughing with them. Then I feel odd. Am I intruding on something that's not meant for me to be a part of? I realize this is a father daughter thing… and I really should be with my father. I suddenly feel this huge urgency to dance with my dad. I need to. This might be our last change.

I smile and excuse myself and Molly seems to understand. I turn around and head for the wall that my father and I were hanging out at. My father isn't there. I search the crowd. I can't find him. I circle the gym once, twice. At one point I notice Molly is watching me, a look of concern on her face. My father has disappeared. And I feel hollow. I sit in a chair near the punch bowl and watch as the fathers dance with their daughters, twirling them around and pretending to try and dance like boys dance regularly. The daughters aren't embarrassed since every father here is doing it. All of the girls are rolling their eyes, but they really don't care at all. I'm alone again.

As the dance ends everyone claps. I look toward the door just in time to see my father sneak back in from outside. He looks around and finally spots me. "Sorry I got a call on my cell. I took it in the car. Ready to go?"

I nod and follow him out of the gym. We ride back home in the same silence, but this one is laced with unspoken disappointment.

**Working at Friendship**

Rachel invited me over for a sleepover. I haven't been to a sleepover in so long I can't remember what I'm supposed to bring. I'll probably refuse anyway. Say I'm doing something that night… Homework that I'll never actually touch.

I was quite content with us ignoring one another. It was just a familiar thing now. We don't talk at school. She'll call sometimes and we'll have a mostly one-sided conversation, her talking and me saying one word in response. I don't know how she can keep this up. I don't mean to, but I know I'm making this hard for her. She's working harder than ever to be my friend.

I don't think I want to be her friend. I want to be Molly's friend. I want to be David's friend again.

I haven't been working at either of those. Molly does most of the work, since she's the one talking. I talk a lot more with her than I do with Rachel though, but it's hard. I'm afraid I'll act like an idiot. Or she'll realize that I never work in class and she should be friends with people like her, geniuses. But she doesn't seem phased at all by the fact that I don't do homework. She just helps me with it during Chem class.

David and I still haven't talked. So much for that.

**Sorry that took so long. Back to school and such. You know… Hope you like it!**


	4. New Project

**Disclaimer: I don't own Speak or the characters.** **Trying to Be Invisible**

I hate the freshmen. Whenever they see me they point and whisper and act stupid. Granted, some sophomores and juniors do this too. The seniors mostly ignore me. This I am grateful for.

Once, during the first week of school, a freshman asked for my autograph. It was pretty creepy. I sighed their English notebook, something that would probably end up in the trash as soon as summer started. Then looked down at my paper, hoping they'd go away. I was not so lucky. They tried to talk to me. Like I was their friend. Then they started asking me about the fight in the closet. At this point I got up and walked away. I don't feel bad. She was obnoxious.

I want to be invisible again. Even hated. This constant attention is suffocating. From my peers, my teachers, my parents. My psychiatrist is great. She doesn't hassle me. Neither does Mr. Freeman. Or Molly. Molly treats me like I'm just a regular girl. Because I am a regular girl.

Sometimes I wonder if Molly really doesn't like me. I wonder if she's just pretending, so she can say she's a friend of the girl who got raped and was a social outcast last year. So she can look like a hero. It's always a thought that nags at me. But another part of me knows that she's not like that. Or hopes she isn't.

Today I asked Molly nonchalantly how she knew David. She explained that they've been friends since they were toddlers. They live on the same street and have basically grown up together.

"But I know what you're thinking. No, we don't like each other in that way. That would be weird. Like having a crush on your brother… ew," she giggled. Then she gave me this knowing looked and her eyebrows rose. "Why are you asking?"

I turned back to my Chem book. I think I heard her laugh under her breath.

I have to remember never to bring up David Petrakis to her again.

**Marthas' New Recruits**

The clubs have started to advertise. The Marthas even have this huge table. They all wear big pearly white smiles and have outfits in the same color. I pass it between classes. They've called my name and motioned me over, but every time I've pretended not to see them and use my old trick of waving to imaginary friends down the hall to get away.

A couple of times I've seen Heather lurking near the table. Close enough to see what's happening but far enough to look like she could be just passing. She looks so lost and she wants to be with the Marthas so badly. She wants to be a part of something again.

**Art Club**

Mr. Freeman, trying to call attention to the art program at school, has decided to start an art club. He has also decided, without asking my permission, that I'll be the spokesperson for it. I wonder if this is even legal. Aren't you supposed to get permission before you take all the art projects a person has turned in over the last year and put them on display? Did I sign something at the beginning of the year without knowing? It's entirely possible, Mr. Freeman might have shoved a paper at me to sign quickly while I was distracted by a drawing.

The first meeting, Mr. Freeman informs me, is this Friday. I think he mentioned something about "Melinda for Art Club President" too, but I'm drawing the line there.

Ivy's quite enthusiastic about all of this. She's making posters and everything. I make a single poster. When I give it to Mr. Freeman he looks slightly disappointed. But I think he feels guilty about springing this on me and he doesn't say anything.

Some of the people from my art class are joining the club. Most of them aren't. This was just the only elective they could take, if they couldn't play an instrument for band or sing for choir. Even if you stink at drawing you can still get a good grade for trying.

**Idiocy or Hypocrisy**

Mr. Neck has started to rant about his unemployed son again. For the past 3 classes he's come up at some point or another. I wonder why he does it in this of all classes, since David Petrakis is in the middle of the second row. David hasn't said anything yet. Most of the class is getting ready for the start of World War III.

"-and that boy is so unqualified for the job. How could he get it over my son? He's 2 years younger for Christ's-…"

I stop listening and doodle another tree into my notebook. A bunny's nose pokes out from behind it. You can see a little of one ear. I have no color pencils so I don't shade in the drawing. I wonder if it's a brown or a white rabbit. I can imagine it either way.

"-and his parents are immigrants. I mean he's a citizen, but that's cheating the system-…"

I looked up the word xenophobic after David talked about it last year. It's something like "fear of people from other countries". Why would you be afraid of them? They're not setting out to hurt us as Americans or something. Don't they just want to live here?

I think David's finally had enough. He's standing. Everyone's looking at him, except me. I'm more interested in how Mr. Neck looks. A vein in his neck is bulging and his jaw is clenched. I think his eye might be twitching. Just slightly though.

"Mr. Neck, I believe I must remind you that this sort of lesson is not looked upon as appropriate material for a Social Studies class. Your racism and intolerance was not acceptable last year, I hardly think it will be received well this year-…"

David talks some more and then there's some yelling. Something about Mr. Neck being a hypocrite since his son must be the unqualified one… I try and tune it out. Draw fur on the rabbit. Texture. Make the bark look alive. I'm insanely curious, but I don't want to listen to David's voice anymore. It's making me feel weird. Like this weird bubbly feeling in my stomach. Am I going to throw up?

David isn't sent to the principal's office. I guess Mr. Neck doesn't want to make a scene. But it's an obvious defeat. He's in a bad mood the rest of class.

**Piecing Together A Person**

Old habits are hard to break. Every time I've passed my closet I've wanted to go in. They still haven't been using it. I've watched.

I don't want to hide anymore, this I know. I wouldn't mind being invisible again, but I won't purposely hide away from everything. My closet was rather important to me last year though, so I think I need to pay it a visit.

Mr. Freeman will probably wonder where I am during lunch period, but I don't think I'll be gone the whole time.

I wait until the hall is mostly clear. I make sure no one is looking in my direction and then I open the door of the closet and walk in. It's funny how things are forgotten so easily. The closet is basically the same. The shattered mirror pieces are gone and so are the remnants of my turkey bone creation. Pity I couldn't save it. The pictures I left are still hanging up. My comforter is in a wad in the corner. It must have been kicked around a lot in the scuffle.

I look mournfully at my Maya Angelou poster that I hadn't had time to retrieve. It has a few tears in it, one in the exact center and one near Maya's ear. They're from when I had to hit it with the wooden base of my turkey bone sculpture. I carefully take down the poster, making sure not to rip it any more. Pieces of the broken mirror fell down into the sink. Maya's picture must have been holding a few up.

It's funny. They say a shattered mirror is seven years bad luck. But all it brought me was good luck.

I roll up Maya's poster. I stand in the closet for a while, looking around. Then I leave. I probably won't be returning. Oh well. I don't need it anymore anyway.

I take the poster back to the Art Room. I gently unroll it. The rip widens a little and I flinch. Maya doesn't seem harmed; she still smiles up at me. I feel like grinning back.

I make my way to the supply closet and pull out a roll of tape. I can feel Mr. Freeman watching me as I flip the poster over and laboriously tape my poster together again. When I flip it back I'm happy to see that I can barely tell that it's been torn.

Mr. Freeman is beside me before I can finish patting myself on the back. "This looks like an interesting art project," he comments absentmindedly, voicing the idea that had been forming in my mind without my even realizing it.

I nod, a thrill of energy pulsing through me. This is my next project. Making this poster… what? Beautiful? What exactly am I going to do?

**Yay, new chapter! Hope you like.**


	5. Shopping for Dummies

I do not own any of these characters, except for Molly. I also do not own the channel Nickelodeon mentioned in this chapter

**Art Club President?**

It's Friday, the first Art Club meeting. I feel like avoiding it, but I can't. Mr. Freeman is counting on me. I can't disappoint him.

While Molly and I were talking in Chem today, or she was talking to me anyway, I mentioned the Art Club, saying something for once. She paused, and them smiled huge, deciding that she'd come along. So now she's here at my side, talking to me as we walk down the hallway toward the art room.

The funny thing is, I don't mind Molly's talking like I did Heather's. Heather's was pointless and she didn't even care if I listened most of the time. With Molly, I don't know… She's just interesting. And every once in a while she'll ask me something, usually in yes or no question form since she's figured out I want to talk as little as possible.

"This is going to be fun. We only see each other in Chem, so we can hang out here too. Then again, I can't draw to save my life. That's why I'm a band geek," at this she laughs. I raise an eyebrow. I didn't know she was in band. I don't keep track of these things.

She notices my curiosity and without missing a beat answers, " I play the flute. Been taking lessons as long as I can remember. I'm actually pretty good. Not great. Whatever. I've heard you're like, the best artist in the school. You could teach me." She smiles widely and looks at me sideways, but I can tell she isn't expecting an answer. I just practice a smile back at her, something I've been working on.

We're the last ones to get to the art room. Ivy is sitting close to Mr. Freeman and waves me over, but I don't like being so close to the front so I try and get a seat near the back. Molly sits down with me. I watch Ivy's face fall and then she looks at Molly with curiosity. Do they know each other? I'm not sure.

Mr. Freeman talks for a while and I start counting the tiles on the ceiling. Then I hear, "Any nominations for Art Club president?"

And then…. "I nominate Melinda Sordino!"

I feel my face heat up to about 500 degrees and I peek out from under my bangs to see Ivy raising her hand and looking excited. Oh… crap…

"Umm… ok," Mr. Freeman says, looking doubtful. He knows that I don't want this. "Anyone else… second the nomination?"

I feel Molly shift next to me, uncertain. I can almost feel her thoughts. Should she nominate me? Would I like that? Would it be helpful? I watch as she puts her hand on the desk she's sitting in, getting ready to raise it. I shake my head slightly, trying to make my hair swish so she'll notice. She does and gives me a surprised look, then one of her knowing smiles and puts her hand back into her lap.

Thankfully, no one seconds the nomination and someone else, a senior I think, is elected president. I breathe a sigh of relief. Molly hears me and I think I might hear a giggle, but I'm not sure. Molly's an odd one, but she makes me smile. She seems to get me better than most people.

I wonder how Ivy could be my friend for longer than Molly, yet not know me as well as Molly does.

**Channel Surfing**

There's nothing good on TV and I don't want to do my homework. My parents are out at some thing they both have to go to, something at my school I think. I didn't ask. I'm too lazy to get up and do something else, so I keep flipping through the same channels over and over again. I keep stopping for a minute or so on Nickelodeon, a channel I used to love when I was younger. The shows seem to have gotten worse. Or maybe I just have different taste now.

Do I even have shows I watch regularly anymore? I blink in surprise. It occurs to me that I just watch whatever is on. I don't have a favorite show, or favorite music, or a favorite book, or anything like that. I vaguely remember having them before, but I can't remember what they were. Did I like pop music? Was my favorite show a comedy or a drama? I close my eyes and try to picture myself watch something, anything that might give me a clue about who I used to be. All I can picture are infomercials.

Have I really lost my old self for good? And is that a bad thing?

**Shopping for Dummies**

Rachel asks me to go shopping with her on Sunday, and since I can't think of an excuse to not go with her besides the homework excuse I've used 6 times now, I say sure. She seems kind of surprised when I say yes, and I'm sort of startled too. I haven't gone shopping in a while, except with my mother. I didn't buy much when we went out. And I guess I do need some new clothes.

Rachel's mom drives us to the mall, talking at me the whole time. I stare out the window and don't say much. Rachel talks a little too, but I think she might be uncomfortable. It's kind of nice to know I'm not the only one getting ready to jump out the window.

The mall is crowded, just like usual. I hold my arms closer to my sides, feeling a little claustrophobic. For a second I feel like ditching Rachel and just going home. Before I can Rachel grabs my arm lightly and pulls me toward some store.

I stand awkwardly in a corner of the store and watch Rachel dash around in a frenzy. I can almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she puts together all the prices in her head. I think I used to do that. Do I have to re-learn how to shop? No better person to teach me than Rachel I suppose…

We pass through a few other shops. Rachel is buying things left and right. I buy a new hair tie. I felt bad that I'm not buying things, so I did this just to please Rachel. I think I'm sort of a people pleaser.

Rachel decides that she's done for now and we make our way over to the food court. Now here I will buy something. A hot dog sounds nice. Some comfort food would do me some good right about now. I get in line to buy a hot dog and Rachel goes to find us a table. She's on some sort of diet. The no eating kind probably.

I sit down and notice she's looking at me oddly. Well, I just shoved a bite of hot dog into my mouth. Maybe she's disgusted? I pause chewing and raise an eyebrow. She keeps staring at me. I look quickly at my reflection in the napkin dispenser. No, no mustard stain of any sort on my face. What's up with her?

"… I'm sorry… about last year, you know? I mean… I was your best friend. I should have been there for you…" She looks down at her shopping bag and starts fiddling with one of the plastic handles.

I feel a lump grow in my throat and suddenly I can't swallow my bite of hot dog. I stare off into space and wonder vaguely if this means I'll choke. Rachel might feel bad if I did choke, so I quickly swallow down what I have (and it takes all the self control I can muster) and put the hot dog down.

"Umm… what?" I manage to say, though it comes out as more of a squeaky cough. Damn hot dog.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, firmer now and staring me straight in the eyes.

I blink. Must she do this? It's in the past. And it's making me feel so awkward I want to bolt. I shift uncomfortably. "It doesn't matter. We get over things." I hope this settles it. I want to stop this conversation dead in its tracks. But sadly, she doesn't let up.

She shakes her head hard. "No! It's my fault! If I had just listened to you… last year wouldn't have gone the way it did. I ruined your freshman year of high school." She looks down at her bag again, examining the store logo. I look at the logo too. It's the Apple symbol. Why doesn't the apple have any bite marks. It just has a huge, even chunk taken out of it. It looks so fake.

"Do you… really want to feel guilty?" I ask, curious. She looks up at me, and I can tell she's confused by my remark. I shake my head and stand up. "Nevermind," I murmur. I pick up my hot dog and walk away.

Sorry for not updating for so long! School and all that. And I kind of got stuck. But I'm back and kicking. Hope you like this chapter!


	6. Monty

**Animal-Assisted Therapy**

My parents seem to be getting more and more desperate to show that they care, so in a sudden act of randomness they got me a dog. Or at least they got all the supplies that we'll need to own a dog. I came home today and almost tripped over a huge back of Puppy Chow that was leaning against the counter in our kitchen. There were two bowls next to it, one already filled with water. I slowly walked up to my room, glancing around for any signs of life besides myself and again almost tripped over a dog bed that had been placed in the middle of my floor.

I threw my backpack onto my bed and went back downstairs to look at the refrigerator. Sure enough, a huge post-it note had been placed between the pizza order for the night and the emergency phone number list that included people I had never met in my life. It read: "Dear Melinda. Don't get too settled in. As soon as we get home we're going out to the pound to pick up a puppy for your 16th birthday. Surprise!"

Seeing as how I never have liked dogs and my 16th birthday is three months away, I don't completely understand at first why my parents had decided to all of a sudden adopt a furry new family member. Sometimes the fact that my parents know me less than my art teacher does depresses me.

I ordered the pizza as usual and tipped the delivery boy five extra dollars because I was so distracted. I was not looking forward to my parents arrival back home. I'm OK with dogs now, but when I was younger I was absolutely petrified of them. Not the big ones, the little yippy ones that have sharp teeth.

My parents get home at around five-thirty and I obediently get into the back seat of the car without saying a word. The ride to the pound is awkward, and I realize that my parents don't want a dog any more than I do. If one of us would just say something maybe we could hang a U-turn right here. But I don't open my mouth and neither do they. Nothing can save us now.

My mom stays behind to sign some papers at the front desk and an assistant lady takes my dad and I back to the kennels. The dogs start barking all at once. I grimace and put my hands to my ears and my dad does the same. The assistant looks at us quizzically, as if wondering why we're here. I roll my eyes and wonder that same thing for the hundredth time.

There aren't very many puppies. All the cute ones are snatched up quickly, leaving behind the temperamental puppies and the old dogs that no one wants because they're not cute anymore. We almost don't see the puppy in the last kennel, it's strategically hid itself between the chain-link cage and the small little dog house placed in the kennel with it. It's black and so thin you can see its ribs. Its ears are pointed and there's a streak of white from the tip of its nose to the middle of its forehead. The assistant informs us that it's a he, and he bites anyone who gets near him.

"Can I go in?" I suddenly ask.

The assistant shrugs and opens the kennel door. I walk in, careful not to step in the pee that's flooding the floor. The dog watches me warily from his hiding place. When I get close enough I hold out my hand.

He bites me.

We take him home. He pees on the living room carpet. I decide to name him Monty.

**Talking to David Petrakis**

Our first conversation of the year goes something like this.

"Hey" –(said by me)

"Hey"

"Did you get the Chemistry homework?"

"Yeah…"

"Oh… I didn't."

"Mm… it was kind of hard."

"…Yeah…"

"Yeah…"

Well it's better than I would have done last year.

**The Disappearance of Heather**

Heather transferred. Or so most people think. She's actually still here. But in an interesting turn of events, she's pierced her tongue and dyed her hair black. So no one recognizes her. I think she's trying to hang out with the Goths, but none of them seem to know who she is either.

I don't know why I've taken to watching Heather. It's just kind of interesting. Everyone thinks she's gone, but she's right here. Just completely different.

I asked Molly today in Chem if she knew Heather. Molly tilted her head slightly, pondering this. Her eyes widened and she said, " Oh, Heather who used to be a Martha Heather? She was in my Math class last year. She was nice. A little too chatty some times, but nice. I heard she doesn't go here anymore. Why do you ask?"

"I used to hang out with her," I murmur distractedly.

"Oh you two were friends?" Molly asked, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"No," I replied, and went back to drawing a Cubism tree.

I could feel Molly watching me for a little while after, then she turned back to her book of the week.

_Because so many people have demanded it I've added a new chapter. I'm kind of stuck on ideas, and I don't want to jump into the David thing so quickly, so any ideas would be appreciated. ; I'm thinking of having more Rachel, or adding Nicole into the mix somehow… anyway thank you for the comments! I'm surprised that it's been so well received. _


	7. 27

_In this chapter I also don't own the Simpsons._

**Training Monty**

Having a dog is not as fun as most people claim it is. Monty bites and pees and eats and sleeps. That's pretty much it. The only part I enjoy is the sleeping. He's actually pretty cute. But only then. I've been trying to figure out what kind of dog he is. I've settled on a hybrid of a Chihuahua and a Black Lab. He's too big to be a pure Chihuahua, and he'll probably grow some more too. It's not that odd of a combo. When I was little my next door neighbor had a dog that was half dachshund, half Boxer. His coat was pretty, but he crapped on our yard and barked anytime he saw me.

I've been trying to housebreak Monty for a week now, but he still ends up peeing under my bed or on the kitchen floor when I'm not at home to stop him. My parents disappear anytime the dog needs to be disciplined. So I'm left in charge of anything involving the canine.

I look over at Monty where he's snoozing in his tiny doggy bed. His ears twitch and his feet kick out in a running motion, and I hear him make a small snuffing noise. I smile despite myself.

I think I made a good choice.

**Therapy Session #27**

My therapist's name is Mrs. Emma Chandler. I'm supposed to call her Emma, because it'll create a more welcoming atmosphere. I mostly don't call her anything. More often than not I stare off into space and let the forty minutes tick by painfully slowly. She's cool about it though. Apparently our health insurance covers these sessions, so I don't think my parents mind too much either.

I walk in and Emma pulls out a pack of cards. She hands the deck to me and I shuffle. She ignores it when I lose a few after they slip out of my hands. I pick them back up and set them up for a game of Speed. The last few sessions we've done this. I suppose the silence had finally gotten to her.

We play a quick game and I win. While she gathers up the cards to reshuffle them she slips in idly, "So Melinda, how was school today?"

I shrug, but then realize she's staring intently at the cards. She wants to hear something. I manage a "Fine" before shaking my bangs into my face again as if it's a reflex. Emma smiles slyly, never taking her eyes off the cards.

I win the next hand. I shuffle the cards in silence, until I surprise myself by saying, "We got a dog."

"Did you now?" The corner of Emma's eyes wrinkle slightly, as if she's smiling when her lips haven't moved. "What kind of dog is it?"

"I don't know. It's a boy. He bites," I reply, knowing she probably was asking what his breed was. I didn't know that either.

"I see. Does he have a name?"

"Monty."

"Any reason you named him that?"

I shrug, unsure myself why the name came so naturally into my mind when thinking about the dog. I say, " Montgomery Burns… is a character on The Simpsons. He and my dog have similar personalities. I think."

"Really now? Do you like The Simpsons?"

I shrug again, for the first time realizing just how much I make this gesture. "Uh… I don't know. I used to watch it. Now I don't."

"Why not?" Emma asked, watching me arrange the cards in a funky looking diamond.

"I don't really watch tv anymore. I turn it on and stuff, but I don't _watch_. It sounds weird when I say it," I mutter, blushing behind my hair.

Emma seems to notice that I don't want to talk anymore, so she stops pushing. She waits patiently for me to volunteer more. And I do. "I mostly draw. Or sleep."

"Do you sleep a lot?" Emma asked, looking concerned.

"Not as much as I used to. I slept all the time. At school, at home, all the way through the night and on. I don't as much anymore. I take naps, but it's gone down to like, one a day. I've replaced it with drawing." I pause thoughtfully, trying to figure out how what I want to say fits in to the conversation. "I like drawing trees. They're my favorite subject. Mr. Freeman thinks they're my muse."

"Mr. Freeman the art teacher? I believe you've mentioned him once or twice," Emma says. She looks interested now, and I wonder if I'm saying too much.

"Yeah, he's my art teacher. He taught me everything. He's probably the closest friend I have," I say, barely aware of what is coming out of my mouth. Rethinking the way I said that, it sounds inappropriate. "He listens to me."

"I see. What do you tell him?"

I feel my fingers stiffen and I drop half of the deck of cards. "Oh… uh… stuff. I don't know. He's the first one I told about… the thing."

"The thing?"

"The reason I'm here. You know-" I trail off, hoping she'll volunteer the word. She doesn't of course. "The rape."

Emma looks serious now, eyes fixed on me. She isn't exactly frowning, but I get the sense that she doesn't like that I've told my teacher more than I've told her. I wonder at first if she's taking it personally, but she's probably just concerned because Mr. Freeman isn't a professional. He can't help me, she thinks. But he can and he has. There's no way I can explain that well to her.

"It would help your case if you told _me_ about the assault. I can help you work through it," she says, voice gentle.

I look into her eyes now. They're blue, but I can see green flecks in them too. One has more green flecks than the other, making one look almost aqua. Her eyes are pretty. When I was little I used to wish I had different colored eyes. Or anything other than the brown ones I have. Now I don't mind. They're tree bark colored.

"I don't know if that's why I'm here _exactly_," I reply, trying to pick my words carefully. "I mean, yeah, that was big for me. But I've come to terms with it mostly, as much as I can at this point. I don't know if that's what is bothering me."

Emma furrows her brow, looking puzzled. "What is bothering you Melinda?"

I start dealing out the cards, determined that this will be the last thing I say in here for today.

"I was alone for a long time."

**Molly's Virtue**

I think Molly is too nice for her own good. She's made contact with Heather.

It's my fault really. Her interest was peaked when I mentioned her in Chem class. It's as if her Motherly Radar was turned on. She swooped in record time.

I saw Molly talking to Heather in the hallway today. She saw me and motioned for me to come over. I walked the other way. I hope I didn't hurt Molly's feelings, but I really can't deal with Heather. I can't deal with anyone really. My session with Emma really drained me of all urges to talk to anyone.

But I realize I really don't want Molly talking to Heather. I've become abnormally attached to Molly. I've tried not to get too attached to anyone here, but suddenly I have this mentality that Molly's mine. It's a scary thought. I've settled into a save place, where I have accepted the fact that I don't have conventional friends. I have Mr. Freeman and possibly a dog. I'm friends with the trees I've drawn, and I have friends in all my bunnies at home. I don't have human teenage friends. People either ignore me or hate me. Or think I'm a hero of some sort.

I want Molly to think of me as a good friend. I've already surrendered this wall I've made, and I've let her in. It's scary because I never thought I'd do that here, in this high school. I hate Merryweather High. I'm not a hornet or a mongoose, or whatever we are this month. I don't care if I have friends or not.

Except I do. I want Molly to be my friend more than anything.

I want David back too.

What's the use of building a wall if it crumbles so easily?

_Due to popular demand I've put up another chapter. Still having trouble, but some suggestions really helped me. It never even registered that I hadn't put any of her therapy sessions in here! Thanks PrincessofNargles. And also thanks Melinda. All the suggestions have gotten me into the writing mood again. I hope to update sooner next time. guilty smile_


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